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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27111313">the dream of the fisherman's son</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dreamer Trilogy - Maggie Stiefvater, Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(my beloved friend/beta reader strongarmed me into including that. i am sorry.), Discussion of Japanese Art History, Double Penetration, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oh also, Other, Semi-Public Sex, Size Queen Declan Lynch, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Sex, declan is 19 btw. in cdth he mentioned tokyo was his last fairy market with niall, making my tentacle porn as ethical as possible, tagging that just in case. for the beginning, they got some crazy shit at fairy markets... hopefully they have poppers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:53:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,482</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27111313</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“If you’re not back in ten or so minutes,” the seller said, talking out of the corner of his mouth like a cartoon. “I’ll know not to come in.” He gave Declan an overly lascivious wink. Declan stared coldly back at him. The man leaned away, laughing heartily. “Have fun in there,” he said as he clapped Declan on the shoulder once more, then promptly turned on his heel to wind his way back to his chair.</p>
<p>there's never any weird gross porn for this fandom, so i figured i should jazz things up a little. here's declan getting railed by tentacles. enjoy</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Declan Lynch/Original Male Character(s), Declan Lynch/Tentacles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the dream of the fisherman's son</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>here are the links to the three hokusai prints that are mentioned in this fic. these links lead to porn. 200-year-old porn. so just be ready for that. <a href="https://pulverer.si.edu/node/277/title/1/7">vol. 1 pages 12-13</a>, <a href="https://pulverer.si.edu/node/277/title/3/3">vol. 3 pages 4-5</a>, and <a href="https://pulverer.si.edu/node/277/title/3/4">the dream of the fisherman's wife</a>. </p>
<p>anyway go stream loona's new album [12:00] which came out today</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Declan always found his way to the art rooms whenever he visited a Fairy Market. The problem is, trouble always found its way to Declan.</p>
<p>He was 15 years old when he got kidnapped. Held for ransom too, which Niall found hilarious. It was only for a few hours, and he slipped the cuffs they put him in, but it was thanks to his own stupid mistake that he got caught in the first place. He never let it happen again, not after hearing his father laugh over the phone when his captors named their price, not after silently taking the verbal beating that Niall dealt him after he escaped. </p>
<p>While most parents teach their children not to talk to strangers, Niall taught Declan his own variation: talk politely with the strangers that I need you to talk to, dodge any questions about where we live or how to contact me, never speak to anyone who approaches you out of the blue, don’t do anything stupid. Declan learned his own rules, too. He learned to watch for the ones who watched him. Don’t let them speak to you, don’t let them get you alone. And don’t cry.</p>
<p>This was the first time Declan had ever been to Tokyo. The hotel that this Fairy Market was stationed in was decorated in a deeply bewildering yet charming mix of Western and Japanese architecture. Slanted tile roof, and ivy-covered brick walls with tudor windows. Sliding paper doors in some areas, and hinged wooden ones in others. The walls were papered with a slightly hideous brocade pattern, and the decorative fans hung upon them clashed horribly. A gold trim ran along the baseboard, nestled in a thin carpet. It was like nothing Declan had ever seen before. He felt a little bit sad that it had to burn down. </p>
<p>The art room was on his left, a small sign bearing the number 84 had been placed under another small sign written in Japanese. Declan reached out to grasp the handle, which was carved in the shape of a dragon. He smiled at it before taking it in his hand and turning it.</p>
<p>The room was much larger than it looked. The ceiling was high, but it was lit entirely by lamps stashed around the room in various places. In the very center, there was a rickety metal folding chair, like the kind that schools keep around for band concerts or other embarrassing performances. And in the chair sat a young, lanky man with light brown hair, dressed just as bizarrely as the hotel. He wore a henley, khakis, and a pair of Japanese wooden sandals. Complete with the strange toe socks. He waved at Declan, grinning broadly.</p>
<p>“Hi there,” he called across the room. He had a warm voice. Declan stepped inside, letting the door close behind him. </p>
<p>“Hello,” said Declan, nodding at him. The man stood up from his chair and approached Declan, his wooden shoes thumping softly against the carpeted floor.</p>
<p>“Got anything you’re looking for?” Declan shook his head, feeling slightly sheepish.</p>
<p>“Not particularly,” he replied. “I’m just here to look.” The man grinned at him. </p>
<p>“Well, that’s no problem,” he said. “I can give you a tour around.” Declan nodded. “You familiar with Hokusai?”</p>
<p>“I’m afraid not,” said Declan. “I mean, I know about <em>Great Wave off Kanagawa</em>, a few of his other landscapes. But otherwise, not much.” The seller hummed thoughtfully, then started walking over to a glass case on the other side of the room, weaving his way around screens and boxes. Inside of it was a series of small figurines nestled on velvet cushions, carved from what looked like ivory or wood. </p>
<p>“These are called <em>netsuke</em>,” said the man, his voice soft. Declan looked up to see that he was gazing at the figurines. </p>
<p>“Hokusai was a miniaturist as well?”</p>
<p>“Oh, no,” the seller said. “But they were definitely influential to his work, being a woodblock printmaker and all.” Declan hummed thoughtfully. “He’s got a stunning eye for detail, just like these miniaturists.” The man gently lifted the lid of the case, and plucked a figurine from where it lay, placing it in the palm of his hand. “This one’s made of hornbill ivory. It’s pretty unusual material for netsuke,” he said, grinning proudly. </p>
<p>Declan peered at it. It could be a brooch, a circular disc with a crane in flight surrounded in flowers carved into it. Tiny individual grooves divided the feathers and petals.</p>
<p>“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Declan nodded.</p>
<p>“Yeah, it is,” he said. The man smiled, then closed his hand around the brooch, whisking it away to place it back in the case. </p>
<p>“Well, they’re not just decorative,” he said, poking around in the case. “Netsuke were used to fasten purses to people’s clothes, since they didn’t have pockets back in the day.” He picked up an oblong one and wiggled it around. “Sometimes,” he said, picking up a wide-looking miniature. “They’re even sexual. Check this one out.” It was a carving of a man and a woman, entwined around each other. Declan snorted.</p>
<p>“What a thing to keep on your belt,” he said. The seller shrugged.</p>
<p>“Sex sells,” he said cheerfully. “Quite a lot of Hokusai’s print work was erotic, actually.” </p>
<p>“Really,” said Declan. </p>
<p>“Yup,” he replied. “Don’t blame you for not knowing, though. Not like they’re gonna show you porn in Intro to Art History.” Declan allowed himself to give the man a cold look.</p>
<p>“I prefer to research on my own time,” he said stiffly. “And it’s not like many biographers are keen to talk about artists’ less highbrow works. I read two Sargent biographies before I heard about his nude sketches and such.” The seller whistled.</p>
<p>“Sargent aficionado, huh?” he said. “Nice.” Declan smiled thinly, fearing he’d given away too much.</p>
<p>“Not quite, but I do enjoy his work.” The seller nodded for a second before staring at Declan silently. Appraisingly. He stared back, feeling his skin prickle.</p>
<p>“I’ve actually got my hands on some of Hokusai’s erotic prints,” he said slowly. “If you’d like to see them.” </p>
<p>“Sure,” said Declan, forcing his voice to sound light as the man stared at him. The seller’s face broke into a grin, and he felt his shoulders relax.</p>
<p>“I bet you would,” he said, teasing. Declan stared flatly at him. The seller continued, unbothered by Declan’s lack of reaction. “Now, this type of erotic print is called <em>Shunga</em>, and Hokusai was quite the master. You know how detailed his other print works are? He brings the exact same dedication to these works.” Declan nodded. “Follow me,” he said, and set off across the room. They wove their way through a maze of wooden chests, glass cases, piles of scrolls, and an enormous ceramic pot until they reached a door, tucked away near the back of the room. “Voilà,” he said, gesturing to the door. </p>
<p>“A separate room?” Declan didn’t even try to hide the suspicion in his voice. The seller chuckled, and gave him a shrug. </p>
<p>“It’s a display room,” he said. “Can’t just stack these babies up like the other stuff.” Declan stared at him, then at the door handle. His heart sank a little when he saw it wasn’t carved with a dragon. “I’ve got a copy of my favorite work of his,” the man said, interrupting Declan’s thoughts. He looked up.</p>
<p>“Is that so?” The seller nodded, enthused.</p>
<p>“Oh, yeah. It’s called <em>The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife</em>.” He paused dramatically. “You’ll know it when you see it.”</p>
<p>“Alright,” said Declan, turning towards the door. </p>
<p>“Ah, ah, ah,” the man said. “I’m not done.” Declan turned back to him. “It’s a very complex piece. You know, it always makes me a little sad to think about, but some people have misinterpreted it as a rape scene simply because they can’t speak Japanese.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” said Declan.</p>
<p>“I think the image speaks for itself pretty clearly, though. Even if I couldn’t understand the words, I would still understand. The sensuality is there, front and center.”</p>
<p>“Thanks for telling me,” said Declan, unsure of what else to say. The seller smiled, and leaned closer to Declan, placing a hand on his shoulder. It felt heavy and too warm, and Declan fought down a flinch. He pressed his left arm closer to his side, focusing on the hard metal feeling of his pistol against his ribcage and letting it ground him. He looked up at the man, who had a conspiratorial expression on his face. “If you’re not back in ten or so minutes,” the seller said, talking out of the corner of his mouth like a cartoon. “I’ll know not to come in.” He gave Declan an overly lascivious wink. Declan stared coldly back at him. The man leaned away, laughing heartily. “Have fun in there,” he said as he clapped Declan on the shoulder once more, then promptly turned on his heel to wind his way back to his chair. But not before Declan caught the look on his face. Declan hated that look. It was an expression he’d seen too many times before on Niall’s face, and it always preceded something awful. He had smiled like he knew something that Declan didn’t, and found this gap between their respective areas of knowledge to be incredibly amusing. </p>
<p>Declan looked back at the man once more, who waved jovially from where he sat, his rickety folding chair tilted back so that the front two legs lifted off the ground. Declan turned back to the door, giving his head a little shake. He was right to be suspicious of the man, but he wasn’t Niall. Even Niall was barely Niall. </p>
<p>Declan stood up straight, pulled his shoulders back, then reached for the doorknob and entered the room.</p>
<p>There were prints hung all around the room, and small fluorescent lamps stationed on the walls above them were the only source of light. As his eyes adjusted to the dim, Declan heard the sound of water. He looked down to see that the floor ended a few feet in front of him, a dark pool taking its place. There was nothing lighting up the water. The floor stretched like a ribbon around the room, allowing the viewer to walk around the perimeter and look at the prints with their back to the pool. Declan stared at the dark water before him. It seemed to stare back, a single black and massive eye. It wasn’t something he felt particularly eager to turn his back on. </p>
<p>In the center of the room was an island, a square of floor in the center of the square pool. There was a light emanating from behind a wall on the island, not high enough to touch the ceiling but a good deal taller than Declan. He walked a few steps to the right, trying to get a better view of what was in the middle. The wall was actually two walls, facing parallel to each other. Only one had a light upon it. It was the one facing away from him. On the sides of the island without walls were a series of square stepping stones that led from the floor at the perimeter to the center. Declan stared at them, where they sat seemingly suspended upon the dark mirror surface of the pool. He felt like he had walked into a temple. Something about the room’s perfect symmetry felt both devotional and wrong. Simultaneously suspicious, yet deeply pleasing. Suspiciously pleasing. </p>
<p>Declan blinked a few times, tearing his eyes and thoughts away from the structure. He looked around again, worrying belatedly about how the moisture in the air might harm the prints. If humidity caused canvas to loosen and sag, surely it had adverse effects on paper too. It could swell, and warp the images. Or it could grow mold. Declan approached the print closest to him, and upon finding it was encased in glass, let out a sigh of relief. </p>
<p>A small label next to the case caught his eye—it bore the words <em>Kinoe no Komatsu vol. 1</em>, <em>pages 12-13</em> with the name <em>Katsushika Hokusai</em> underneath. No title. Declan looked up at the print. The first thing that Declan noticed was the fact that the couple seemed to be staring directly at the viewer. At him. The woman had her hand draped around the man’s neck, but they stared out as if someone had just walked in on them. The next thing that Declan noticed was the startlingly comical proportions of the man’s genitals. The head was nothing short of bulbous, making up almost half the length of his penis. Declan clapped a hand over his mouth, stifling a snort. He leaned closer, and saw that the man’s balls were nowhere in sight. It looked as if he had tucked them away behind his leg. Declan turned to the print on his left, feeling suddenly like a man on a mission.</p>
<p>This one was also untitled, the plaque reading <em>Kinoe no Komatsu vol. 3</em>, <em>pages 4-5</em>. Bringing his eyes up to the print, Declan was met with an even more hysterical-looking penis. This head was equally bulbous, almost spade-shaped, inching itself into the woman’s slit. Again, he was bereft of balls. It was then that Declan noticed that the printed woman’s vulva was just as disproportionately large as her partner’s dick, and let out a laugh—it was the same length as her face. </p>
<p>He leaned closer, looking at the lovingly-rendered hairlines of the couples, the way the light hit their black hair, how it looked slick as oil. He had to admit, Hokusai’s attention to detail was admirable. Declan stared at the patterns on their numerous layers of clothing that lay draped and discarded around them, the gentle slope of the woman’s cheek, the man’s wavy pubic hair, and wondered just how long it took for Hokusai to carve all of this, and to carve it right. It was incredible, the amount of expertise that went into making this centuries-old centerfold. The feeling of wonder that had begun to soar within Declan was squashed just as quickly when he noticed that the printed man’s spade-shaped penis head looked like a duck’s bill poking out his lover’s vagina, and he let out a yelp of laughter that echoed around the room.</p>
<p>As he stifled his laughter against his hand, the light in the middle of the room caught his eye. He had a feeling that the seller’s favorite print—<em>The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife</em>—was housed there, and Declan was deeply curious to see it. </p>
<p>He walked over to the edge of the floor, then reached an experimental foot out to the first stepping stone, placing a bit of weight on it. It stayed still. Nothing in the water moved either. Declan slowly stepped onto it with both feet, looking around the room. He stepped carefully onto the next little platform, then the next, and then onto the island. Again, nothing moved. </p>
<p>He turned his gaze towards the light, and caught sight of the print. Two cold pairs of eyes stared out at him. A pair of octopi had their tentacles twined around a woman lying amongst tide pool rocks with her legs splayed open, her head tilted back, her hands grasping at their tentacles. Declan stared at it, unsure what to think. The smaller octopus had a tentacle curled around her nipple and its beak in her mouth, either an approximation or a perversion of a kiss. The larger one had its beak pressed against her clit, tentacles wrapped around her limbs. The octopi stared at the viewer, but the woman didn’t seem to notice, her eyes half-closed and staring up. </p>
<p>Declan wasn’t so sure that the image spoke for itself. He felt like he had intruded upon something. He stared at the way her hands gripped the tentacles at her sides, trying to understand what it meant</p>
<p>Something cold and wet wrapped around his ankle. Declan looked down to see that a tentacle had wound its way around his leg, and was slowly creeping upwards. For a moment, he stared in complete disbelief, convinced that he was hallucinating. It was when he saw another tentacle slither out of the water that he reached for his gun.</p>
<p>He stumbled before he could grab it, as another tentacle came from behind and wrapped itself around his calf. Declan kicked his leg frantically, but it tightened itself, and began to creep its way up to his thigh. He fumbled inside his jacket for his gun, hands shaking. As he pulled it out, a tentacle wrapped itself around his bicep, wrenching his arm towards the ceiling. Declan grunted in pain. Another tentacle rose up to pluck the gun from his hand, tossing it to the floor with a clatter. </p>
<p>Declan was terrified. He had just been immobilized and disarmed by tentacles, tentacles that came out of absolutely nowhere. He was suspended above the ground, his back pressed against the unlit wall. He thrashed wildly, trying to escape, but to no avail. He breathed heavily, trying to free himself. Another tentacle reached out, coming towards Declan’s face. He yanked his head away, but it followed. And it stroked itself against his cheek. </p>
<p>Declan froze. It was huge, its skin wet and slick, but the motion was undeniably gentle. As he stopped moving, the tentacles’ grip on him slackened, no longer painfully tight. Declan took a deep breath, forcing his muscles to unclench. The tentacles loosened even more. He tried kicking a single leg, and the tentacle holding it in place clamped down. The one next to his face stroked his cheek again. It was trying to soothe him. He breathed again, and it slid down his chest, and began to undo his belt. As it struggled, another tentacle appeared from the water, helping the other one in its task. In a blink, his belt was discarded on the floor, and they moved on.</p>
<p>Declan could do nothing but watch as the tentacles gently tugged at the front of his pants, trying to figure out how to undo them. As two fumbled with the button, another traced up the inside of his thigh before pressing itself insistently against his crotch. It had just begun to rub itself back and forth when the two tentacles finally undid his button, and it decided to retreat, tracing patterns on the inside of his thigh again. The tentacles found the zipper far easier, pulling it down and exposing Declan’s cotton trunks. A tentacle slipped its way under the hem, wrapping itself around him as the other pulled his underwear down. Declan hissed at the touch of its cool, slimy skin. Together, the two tentacles removed his soft cock from the confines of his trunks, toying with it gently, familiarizing themselves with his body. </p>
<p>The tentacle stroking his thigh moved once more—it slid unhurriedly up over his ass, curling up on his lower back before it slipped between his slacks and his trunks to tease at the cleft of his ass. Declan felt his breath hitch as it inched lower and lower, sliding deeper between his cheeks, the thin fabric of his underwear the only thing separating it from his skin. He needed friction, half-wanting to buck back against it so he could at least feel it press against his hole. He crushed the thought immediately, mortified by the idea. The tentacles angled Declan back against the one at his ass, which rose to meet them as it slowly dragged itself over his asshole. At the exact same time, one of the tentacles fondling his dick slipped under his foreskin, circled his head, and dragged itself over his slit. Declan gasped, and the tentacle behind him pressed itself against his hole again, more insistently than the last time. He was half-hard. </p>
<p>Declan felt a tickling at his ankle to see another tentacle sliding up his leg, and with two more following it. The three slid slowly up Declan’s legs, dragging against the fabric of his pant legs. They stopped for a second at the hem of his shirt, and he watched, feeling a sense of uneasy anticipation start to creep through him. But in a blink, one slid under his shirt, wrapping itself around his waist. Still unused to the cold wet feeling, Declan couldn’t help but squirm as it slipped against his skin. In response, the tentacles wrapped around his limbs tightened minutely, keeping him in place. He took a deep breath, letting his body slacken, and they loosened. The tentacle behind him had stopped rubbing itself against his asshole, and instead had slipped back up to his lower back, now toying with the hem of his underwear. Once more, Declan fought back the humiliating urge to grind against it, cheeks flushing at the thought. </p>
<p>Suddenly, the two tentacles lingering at the hem of his shirt slid over the fabric and up his chest, grazing against his nipples. He hissed quietly, eyes shuttering half-closed. The way the clean-pressed fabric, dampened by the tentacles, chafed against them made him feel unexpectedly sensitive. But the two tentacles didn’t linger, curling around Declan’s tie and making quick work of it like they did his belt before moving on to unbutton his shirt. They fumbled briefly with the first button, slipping on the tiny disc of plastic before managing to push it through its hole. One of the tentacles slipped under Declan’s newly-opened shirt to caress his collarbone before turning back to the buttons. </p>
<p>As they worked to open his shirt, one of the tentacles had been gently suctioning and un-suctioning itself on the underside of Declan’s cock. It was a both a bizarre and mesmerizing sensation, a ripple of tension and release, tension and release. But combined with the way the other tentacle swirled around the head of his cock, it brought him to aching hardness. </p>
<p>As another button gave way, the tentacle that had been fiddling with Declan’s waistband slithered smooth and slick and cool under the fabric of his trunks and into the cleft of his ass, pressing against his hole before beginning to stroke slowly back and forth. </p>
<p>Another button came undone, and it started moving slower, along with the tentacles working on his cock. </p>
<p>Another button popped open, and Declan could feel the individual rows of suckers on the tentacles as they attached and released, could feel the lip of the suckers dragging slowly over his asshole, over the head of his cock. He felt like he was burning, his skin too tight. </p>
<p>Another button popped open. Precum dribbled from his slit, mixing with the already wet slide of the tentacle over his head, and Declan cracked. He bucked back against the tentacle pressed against his asshole, and it slipped in. He whimpered. </p>
<p>As soon as the tentacle entered him, the one that had wrapped around his waist wound swiftly around his torso again, coming up to stroke itself against the hollow of his cheek, against the underside of his jaw and the shell of his ear. It moved in tandem with the tentacle that was now dipping in and out of his hole, shallow and slow. He felt helpless as the tentacles rutted inside him and against him, their undulating muscles bringing him to the edge and no further. Here Declan was, splayed out and immobile, being teasingly half-fucked with nothing to do but beg. It was humiliating, and even more humiliating was how badly he <em>wanted</em> to beg. </p>
<p>The tentacles undid another button, leaving just one at the bottom of his shirt. After they turned to fiddle with the final disc of plastic, the tentacle that had been working at the head of Declan’s cock lifted itself away. His body relaxed and a sigh of relief slipped its way out of his mouth—one he hadn’t realized had been building up as the tentacle had been inching him closer and closer to overstimulation. The cool air against his tender skin, red from both arousal and chafing, felt like bliss. It didn’t last for long, though. The tentacle pressed itself against Declan’s perineum, and he bit back a hiss as his entire body clenched at the new sensation. It was indescribable, feeling too close and just off the mark at the same time. The problem was, he had no idea what or where the mark was. </p>
<p>The tentacle stroking his cheek had come around to the other side of his face, and was flitting around the shell of his ear. It felt halfway like a tongue, gentle and wet, but when a sucker grazed against his skin, the suspension of disbelief would break. But the difference felt strangely good, the way the ridges brushed against his skin at unexpected times. Half of him wanted to lean into it, to rub his face against the tentacle and chase the uncanny and rippled sensation, but he couldn’t allow himself to. </p>
<p>The tentacles finally undid the final button, and Declan’s shirt fell open, exposing his torso. One of them reached out and slid itself tentatively into Declan’s navel.</p>
<p>“Oh, God, don’t,” he said, twisting himself away to the best of his ability. The tentacle retreated. It then slid up his chest with the other one that had been undoing his buttons, sliding over the shirt that they just opened. Declan’s face twisted in confusion until they found their way to his nipples, and his expression slackened in pleasure. Half a groan escaped his mouth before he stifled it, face flushing hot, embarrassed by how reactive he was. </p>
<p>Declan had fooled around with plenty of people—he’d had girlfriends, and there were a surprising amount of guys at Aglionby with an interest in men, or at least were indiscriminately horny and looking to get off. Most of them were the latter, but Declan was fine with either. Not like he could afford to be choosy anyway. But nobody, neither girlfriend nor surreptitious classmate hookup, had ever decided to play with his nipples like this. In Declan’s opinion, it was stupid to think that your masculinity was somehow compromised if you liked it up the ass.</p>
<p>But he felt, distressingly, that he was being treated like a woman. Like the woman in the print. The fisherman’s wife. He turned his face away from it, unable to look.</p>
<p>A tentacle pressed hard against Declan’s perineum, rendering him incapable of thought for a moment as he fought not to gasp, his eyes squeezed shut. The sheer amount of sensation occurring all around his body was almost overwhelming, but all of it was blunted. Declan felt again like he was experiencing too much and too little—the way they slid against his skin, touched him through his clothes, fucked him shallowly—the tentacles were edging around something that he couldn’t name. </p>
<p>The tentacle stroked his perineum again, harder than the last time, and more precum spurted weakly from Declan’s cock. Hot on his hot skin. The tentacles began moving faster, fucking in and out and against him with a new speed, squeezing him tighter than before. The infuriating feeling of veiled closeness returned again, and Declan wanted—no, <em>needed</em> the tentacles to stop toying with him. The tentacles were fucking him no deeper than before, they only brushed against his lips, and rippled against his cock without ever moving. Declan was at his breaking point. He was being played with, and he wanted to beg. A whine escaped his mouth. He needed so much. </p>
<p>Suddenly, it stopped. The tentacles simply stopped moving. Held in the air, Declan could feel the weight of the tentacles on his cock, their firm pressure against his nipples and perineum, the girth of it aching inside him. He could feel sweat dripping down his neck, his chest heaving. He had been held at the edge for so long, and now it had all stopped. So, he broke. </p>
<p>Declan sucked in a breath, and thrust himself back against the tentacle inside him, snapping his hips up in a desperate attempt to get some kind of sensation, some kind of friction. He writhed in the tentacles’ grip, face aflame. It was humiliating. But he was helpless to his need, so he bucked and twisted, begging for something. </p>
<p>“Please,” he said aloud, voice almost cracking from disuse. He turned his head to mouth at the tentacle suspended next to him, kissing sloppy and gentle against its soft, slick skin, his lips catching against the suckers. “Please,” Declan repeated, heavy with need. He rolled his hips again, feeling desperate and stupid, still sucking lightly at the tentacle frozen beside him.</p>
<p>It moved. Declan flinched in surprise as it slid against his cheek. It moved in front of his mouth, brushing against his lips and settling there. He opened his mouth slightly, and it crept inside his mouth. </p>
<p>The tentacle was thick. It could fit in his mouth without much difficulty, but it was still thick. Declan struggled to keep his head still as it poked around his mouth, sliding itself under his tongue, exploring the shape of his mouth. He rolled his hips once more, hoping that the other tentacles would move, but they remained still. Declan’s eyes watered as it reached up to touch the roof of his mouth, suckers sliding over the ridges to brush against his soft palate. He forced himself to breathe slowly through his nose, in and out, in and out, as the tentacle inched closer to the back of his throat. It stroked a tonsil, and Declan gagged harshly. The tentacle drew itself out of his mouth as he coughed, eyes running. 
When he stopped, he looked back up, and the tentacle slithered back into his mouth, settling at the edge of his throat, but going no further. It wiggled around, determined to fit as much of itself inside Declan’s mouth. He stroked it experimentally with the flat of his tongue, and it stroked him back. He could tell that his jaw would begin to ache soon, but he’d deal with it when it happened. </p>
<p>Out of nowhere, the tentacle wrapped around his cock began to move again, sliding gently up and down over his shaft. Declan moaned around the tentacle in his mouth as it began to slowly slip and out of his mouth, and flushed as a bit of saliva slipped out of the corner of his lips. The tentacle at his perineum moved back to the head of his cock, dragging itself over the slit again. Right after, the tentacles on his nipples began stroking over the fabric of his shirt. It was an entire cascade of sensation working its way through his body. </p>
<p>Then, the one inside of Declan began to move. His entire body seized up as the tentacle slowly worked itself deeper inside of him, pressing up against his prostate. The tentacle in his mouth drew back as he desperately tried to steady his breathing, gasping as it began to move slowly in and out of his clenched hole, sliding wetly back and forth across the bundle of nerves. Declan threw his head back, tossing his dark curls out of his face as a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. His eyes squeezed shut as he felt each individual sucker brush against the rim of his asshole, setting off the nerve endings like fireworks. The tentacle crept inside his mouth again and Declan sucked at it eagerly, desperate to feel as much of it as he could, shame overpowered by sheer craving alone, if only for a moment. He bucked back against the tentacle inside of him, tossing his head back again, letting out a half-choked moan as the suckers brushed over his prostate again. Precum leaked from the end of his cock, slicking the tentacles even further. </p>
<p>The tentacle at his mouth crept over his shoulder to weave itself into his hair. Declan gasped as it pulled his curls gently, wanting more. But it gently tilted his head down, moving his eyes to the print in front of him. Declan blushed, averting his eyes from the cold-looking gazes of the octopi. But the tentacle simply turned his head back towards, and the tentacles stroking him from inside and out slowed. The one inside him stopped moving in and out, but instead curled and uncurled itself inside him, letting him clench around it as it stroked his prostate over and over. </p>
<p>Declan’s brain felt like mush, making it difficult to focus on the print in front of him. He didn’t know what to think. He remembered the seller’s words again, how people misinterpreted it simply because they couldn’t read Japanese. Declan couldn’t read the words either, though. The image spoke for itself. He stared at the woman in the print, who had her eyes half-closed, legs wide open, hands grasping at the tentacles of the larger octopus. What kind of image would he make, all his clothes undone and halfway off his body, suspended and immobilized by enormous tentacles. Flushed red and fucked-out and sweating. The tentacles suddenly dragged themselves across his nipples and the head of his cock simultaneously, abusing the oversensitive skin there. Declan’s eyes shuttered closed as he gasped. </p>
<p><em>What kind of image would you make?</em> The words rang through his mind, and Declan pressed his mouth closed around a moan as the tentacle inside him unfurled over his prostate, feeling shame rise hot in his stomach. Maybe he’d be pitied. He felt nauseous at the thought. The tentacle curled itself into his hair again, pulling his head back, and Declan was glad to look away. He didn’t know what he was supposed to think. He didn’t want to think about it. He focused on the tug of the tentacle in his hair, let the tentacle slip itself gently into his mouth, his brows still furrowed. The one inside him began to move again, and the brush of suckers against his insides sent him gasping again. He wasn’t sure whether or not to try and stifle it. What kind of image would he make? </p>
<p>Declan closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation of the tentacles fucking in and out of him, the alternating rhythm they took, one pressing into him while the other pulled itself out, determined to let it mesmerize him. In, in, in, in in in in. Out out out. In. In. Out. Declan cordoned off any other thoughts, submerging himself in the feeling of being used. He frowned. The feeling of being fucked. He let himself slip down into the feeling of being fucked, the heady, near-pain sensation of the tentacles rubbing over and over and over the head of his cock, doing the same to his nipples, like the woman in the print. Saliva dripping down his chin. He wanted to wipe it away. His dark hair, mussed and sweaty. </p>
<p>Declan frowned again, suddenly becoming conscious of how messy, how well-fucked he must look. His blood ran cold as his face went hot. People would notice. They would know.</p>
<p>Declan wriggled uncomfortably in the creature’s grip as mortification began to take hold of him. People would know. The tentacles tightened around him, trying to keep him from falling, and he went slack again. </p>
<p>As some of the tension left Declan’s body, he could feel more. He was hot, half-dizzy with need. Bringing himself back into his body was like jumping into the driver’s seat of a moving car. He was close to coming, his breaths growing fast and unsteady. Declan writhed under the cool touch of the tentacles, fighting to orient himself as all of the sensations threatened to overwhelm him. He just needed something to push him over the edge. He squeezed his eyes shut and rolled his hips again, feeling the tentacle unfurling inside him as he bore down upon it, their opposite motions creating a delicious sensation of pressure against his prostate. His nerves lit up like a dry meadow met with a match. He moaned aloud, relishing in the deep, full feeling of the tentacle undulating inside of him.</p>
<p>Blessedly, the tentacle at slit moved behind his balls once more, stroking in time with the tentacle in his mouth, which was slack as the tentacle fucked shallowly in and out of it. Declan mouthed sloppily at the tentacle, letting it slide against his flattened tongue. The other tentacle was working wonders on his perineum, the feeling of in, in, in, on, on, on on on against his prostate sent his breaths coming shakier and shakier. It was the off-the-mark blunt sensation of before, now combined with sharp, intense pleasure. He ground his hips against the tentacles, nerves screaming for release as he approached the edge. </p>
<p>Out of nowhere, Declan felt something press against his hole. It was another tentacle. He froze, and the tentacles slowed down, pulling themselves out of his mouth and slowing their rubbing. The tentacle inside him pushed slowly deeper, its slick skin allowing it to glide easily as Declan worked to accommodate it, panting hard. The ache of being filled went right to his cock, causing more precum to leak from its tip. The tentacle burrowed itself even deeper into him, and he gasped, feeling like he could barely breathe. </p>
<p>The tentacle that had previously fucked Declan’s mouth worked its way into his hair again, pulling at his dark curls and eliciting a whine from him. He rutted against the tentacle inside him, and choked back a sob as he pushed it even deeper, his body stretching around it. The tentacle inside of him waited patiently for him to adjust, pushing gently and allowing him to take it deeper when he pleased. </p>
<p>After it opened him wider, it slid slowly out. Declan whined at the loss, clenching around air. He blushed, feeling shame pool in his stomach again, but he needed to be filled so badly that he could barely think about anything else. </p>
<p>When he felt the two tentacles line up at his hole, Declan bucked back against them, and then gasped, feeling lightheaded as he had to will himself away from coming. The tentacles had pressed their smooth sides together, so that their suckers faced outwards. They were slick, but the way they dragged against the nerve endings in his asshole made Declan legitimately dizzy with pleasure. </p>
<p>As the tentacles pushed themselves in, he felt his head start to spin—lightheaded like his brain was whirling around in his skull—and squeezed his eyes closed. He could do little but gasp for breath, his shoulders tight as the two tentacles slowly worked their way into his body. Declan could feel them growing closer to his prostate, and the tentacle behind his balls began to gently massage his perineum, preparing for when it was hit from inside. Precum dribbled from his slit. The tentacle on his cock began to move slowly back and forth, spreading his precum up and down his shaft, sliding even wetter than before. Declan was on the verge of coming, and of tears. </p>
<p>When the tentacles struck his prostate, Declan’s vision went white. He heard himself let out a sound like nothing he’d ever come across, an almost animalistic whine. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was so close to coming, precum leaking freely from the head of his cock while the thick, textured pair of tentacles pressed themselves unrelentingly against the ball of nerves inside him.</p>
<p>As the tentacle on his cock slowly unwrapped itself, Declan let out a choked-off sob at the loss of stimulation. More than anything, he wanted to come. So when the tentacle returned, running its slick side against the underside of his cock, setting off landmines of pleasure, he gave himself into the feeling. Declan came as the tentacles inside of him uncurled and suckered gently to his walls, rewarding him with one last burst of pressure against his prostate that sent his eyes rolling back, his body releasing the surfeit of tension stored in his muscles. His cum splattered onto the floor below. </p>
<p>When Declan came back to his body, it was still suspended in the air by tentacles, so he figured that he mustn’t have blacked out for more than a few seconds. The tentacles began removing themselves from his body, pulling themselves from his mouth, off of his chest and his softening cock. The last tentacles were still inside of him, though. Declan closed his eyes, concentrating on keeping himself loose, breathing slowly in and out. He could feel every sucker dragging against his oversensitive hole as the tentacles slowly slipped out, and he clenched his teeth against the aftershocks. </p>
<p>The tentacles rested him back on the ground again, and Declan’s knees almost buckled under him, his hand shooting out to brace himself against the wall. He looked down, and saw his cum puddled on the floor. Some of it got on his tie. Declan stared at it blankly for a moment, then reached down to pluck his tie off the floor. He went to place it around his neck, but his shirt was still unbuttoned. His undone pants, along with his underwear, were hanging desperately onto his thighs. His belt had fallen to the floor as well. Declan tucked himself back into his trunks, then moved to zip his slacks back up. He fumbled with the zipper a few times before he realized that his hands were shaking, so he stared at them, willing it to stop. He felt drained. He took hold of his zipper again, pulling it up. </p>
<p>The tentacles were nowhere to be seen. Declan looked around the room, at the dark, unmoving water, and there was nothing. He turned back to his damp, wrinkled shirt, and began to button it up, tucking it into his slacks and belting himself in. He prayed that somehow, it would hold him together. He smoothed his hands over the front of his shirt. It was still wrinkled. Declan felt the hot, sick feeling of shame rush through him once again. It was obvious. He was rumpled and sweaty, completely undone. He worried his tie, running his hands up and down the silk. People would know. Declan stared at his gun where it lay on the ground, close to the water. He stared at the water, and had an idea. </p>
<p>Declan carefully removed his phone from the inside pocket of his blazer, and set it on the ground next to his gun. He left his watch on. He walked up to the edge of the pool, adjusted his tie, and jumped in. </p>
<p>Dark water surrounded him. For a blissful moment, he was suspended again, safely contained. Then, his lungs started to burn. Declan kicked hard, hands scrabbling at the smooth rock of the stepping stone next to him, desperate to breathe as his clothes weighed him down. His face broke through the surface of the water and he gasped, pulling in an enormous breath. Hand on the stepping stone, he pushed himself towards the island. Declan brought his elbows up onto the hard surface, kicking gently. He felt a bit like a child, waiting at the edge of the swimming pool. With a grunt of effort, he heaved his shaking body up onto the island, panting for a moment on his hands and knees. </p>
<p>Water dripped down his nose, pouring from his sodden clothing in gentle rivulets, and Declan smiled. Any incriminating signs were gone, washed away. He had simply fallen into a pool. He picked up his phone and his gun, tucked them into his blazer, and set off across the stepping stones.</p>
<p>When he opened the door, the seller was still there. Declan nearly shut himself back in. He let his forehead rest against the cool surface of the door, breathing, shivering, before opening it once more and stepping out. The seller looked up, and after taking in Declan’s sodden form, raised an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“You decide to go for a swim?” he asked.</p>
<p>“I fell in,” Declan replied simply. The man looked at him, then laughed. Declan’s fists clenched at his side, heat rising in his face.</p>
<p>“Well,” he said, chuckling. “I hope you had fun.” Declan flushed red, turned on his heel, and walked out, weaving through the disorganized maze of artifacts. “Bye bye!” the man called. Declan didn’t turn around. He only reached for the door, flung himself out of the room, and slammed it behind him. </p>
<p>He stood there for a moment in the hall, breathing heavily as his clothes slowly dripped onto the carpet. He stared at the flaking gold molding, willing his shame back down, forcibly pushing the sick, mortifying heat away into the corner of his mind that he didn't touch. He took another breath and gathered himself, adjusting his sopping wet tie, and set off to find his father.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>brave souls who reach the end of my fic get to know my secret. believe it or not, i don't really care about tentacle porn. i don't really like it. i just decided to write some disgusting porn for trc because nobody writes disgusting porn for trc. which is boring of them! so i thought i'd change that. i'm very aware that my indifference towards tentacle porn does not absolve me from the fact that i brought some truly nasty shit into this world. this is not a last-ditch attempt at being ironic, nor am i trying to distance myself from my wretched creation. i know what i wrote. it is very gross. but i committed to it. perversity for perversity's sake, huzzah! </p>
<p>also don't come at me saying "oh this is unrealistic muh he didn't.. he didn't douche beforehand" first of all, yes he did, i just didn't write it in. when you're douching in the hotel bathroom and your dad is knocking on the door saying you have to leave for the magic crime convention but the water isn't coming out clear....... :(. second of all this is TENTACLE PORN of COURSE it's unrealistic</p></blockquote></div></div>
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